Do they dream
those not yet opened buds?
Before there are flowers
do the slow-unfurling petals
imagine the face
of the sun?
What do the buds know of the world they are about to enter?
I’m always fascinated by the giant leap between development and living.
For more waking to mysterious worlds, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.
The beginning of spring is an exercise in caution
The very tips of buds
The faintest hints of shoots and
Lone notes of bird song
Punctuated by stillness.
It is the world at its most simple
The barest, strictest branches of life
Sent forth in hope
That they will not be claimed
By the retreating tendrils of winter.
There is a beautiful simplicity to optimism
I am always heartened by how the world persists in the face of constant setbacks.
For more hopeless optimism, minimalist and otherwise, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.
The fish return as the snow melts.
Every stroke upstream one step closer to death,
To the birth of those who will supplant them.
Long years in infinite space, vast waters,
Vanish to the narrow points of choked rivers,
Strangled streams.
The thin patch of water in front becomes
The only remaining horizon.
Is it the same as when they left, younger and less scarred?
Do they remember that path, these waters in any way other than
The instinctive itching under their skin?
Hard to say as they thrash against the net,
Glittering and choking, raised in offering
To the distant sun.
Some paths are harder than others
We eat and live on the backs of others’ trials. Sometimes it’s important to remember that.
For more returns, dangerous and otherwise, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.
It froze last night.
It was a deep frost, lacing the newly budding leaves with a thin web of ice before vanishing under the anemic warmth of the sun.
Just north of here, there are places with no months that are frost-free.
Spring is deceptive.
Other lands, other landscapes, have easy boundaries between the cold and the warmth.
It is possible to measure, scientifically, the sun angle and the number of days from the Equinox and speak knowingly of whether winter has vanished.
Here, it is closer to magic, to the alchemical process of transmuting lead to gold.
Watch the caterpillars, the shadows of the mountains, the movement of air down the river valley-
Transmute these things into a calculus of still-born life, of a reminder of the knife’s edge we walk.
And still we grow.
Plants bursting forth, a hundred birds rising as a single mind, a single body.
The air buzzing with insects, with songs, with the thick smell of things growing and dying.
There is no freedom from the shadow of death.
Still the green things reach upwards.
No less beautiful for their dangerous struggle.
No less determined in their unfolding, in their relentless march towards life.
Green persists, even in the face of its destruction
I have the deepest respect for the ability of northern beings to keep living in the face of the challenges of their environments.
I am a lover of persistence both in life and in writing. If you would like to read more about persistence and the overcoming of impossible odds, you can read my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, is also available here.
spring’s simple pleasures
a burst of aromatics
this is hay fever
Life Philosophy: Good
*For this week, I will be sharing deep, philosophical statements about life and writing through haiku.
*Disclaimer: “Deep”, “Philosophical”, “Life”, “Writing” and “Haiku” may be approximate statements not tied to dictionary meanings. The author is not responsible for any eye-rolling related injuries.
If you would like some non-red-eyed reflections, I have also written a fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor. It is available here.
Cat Amesbury 